


Quiet

by washourhands



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blood Kink, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fear Play, Manhandling, Violence, autassassinophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 23:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/washourhands/pseuds/washourhands
Summary: The man was the kind of narcissistic that kept his insecurities so thinly veiled, and today was just like any other. To be fair, maybe you shouldn’t have called him out on it in front of everyone.





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request I got on my tumblr, under the same name, if you're interested in requesting! Dutch is an asshole and I love him for it.

If there was one thing you knew about Dutch, it’s that he didn’t mind to get his hands dirty. He’d drowned a man in cold blood for injuring his pride, burned a woman’s home to the ground for doing the same, though he’d claim it was all for Jack. The man was the kind of narcissistic that kept his insecurities so thinly veiled, and today was just like any other. To be fair, maybe you shouldn’t have called him out on it in front of everyone, but a small part of you lauded his ability to wait till everyone else was asleep before dragging you out into the woods at gunpoint, hair wrapped around his fist.

Some strands caught and pulled on his rings when he threw you down.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

“Not allowed to speak our minds now, Dutch?”

His pistol connects with your skull and you grunt, lucky you didn’t pass out. When your ears quit ringing, your mind was awash with a million little thoughts you always hid from him.

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”

Your mind reels, almost certain he knows, but it has to be something else because he’s still so angry, on the ground and in your face now. Your head hurts so much-there’s blood in your left eye. Places that shouldn’t be wet are, and it makes your mouth dry.

“Dutch, I don’t know what-”

“You’re trying to sow distrust,” he pulls out his knife, “trying to make them lose faith.”

Your sternum aches from your heavy breathing, from the way your heart threatens to burst forth and land in his lap. The moonlight glints in dark eyes and you swear his pupils have to be as blown as yours are, all adrenaline. Right?

“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t,” he’s so much bigger than you. You were never one of the stronger ones in the gang, your only saving grace being that you were a decent shot. He snatched you up without your gun, though, the holster resting in your cot a vivid image in your mind, like if you focused hard enough you could conjure it up, hit him back.

“Dutch, please,” you beg as he tilts your head up with the sharp edge of the knife. It’s like a razor, slipping into flesh like butter, and you hiss. Your legs start to shake.

“I always thought you looked best a little bloody,” you gasp as he flicks the knife to the side, a cut that burns as your jaw slackens.

You knew Dutch was many things, but a sadist, like you and unlike you in so many ways, you did not.

He runs the knife down your chest, light enough to not cut the skin, the fabric of your shirt. Should you make peace with death? Would he let you come back with wounds he himself inflicted? You whimpered and he edged his way further into your space, breath fanning over your cheek as you trembled.

“Please, please-”

“Please, what?” He’s looking you in the eyes now, and here you can see where the emptiness of his pupils meet the dark brown, and how even in the dark, the iris looks so small.

“Don’t kill me.” He almost looks affronted, even as his hand slides its way up to your throat, the tip of the knife pressed against your stomach now.

“Why on earth would I do a thing like that?”

The grip on your neck is firm, more holding you in place than choking you. For now, anyway, just so he can toss the knife to the side. It lodges into the dirty, which you notice is much softer than you thought. Anything to get out of this headspace you were in, anything to ignore the way adrenaline made your bones buzz, made you ache.

“You know you can trust me with anything,” he was openly mocking you, like it was ludicrous you ever had in the first place. Your eyes squeezed shut to avoid his gaze, so you wouldn’t have to see him when he asked-

“Do you like being hurt?”

You were always so fucking weak for him, he had to have seen the way you always followed him around, always asked him for help, and he seemed so happy to oblige each and every time. Tears sprung forth as you whimpered a yes.

He knocked you to the ground and you didn’t fight him. He lifts your skirts and you help. He does it all one handed, the other like a vice now on your neck. Your eyes flutter at the lack of oxygen and he groans a curse, like he’d always wanted this, wanted you teary eyed and bleeding beneath him. God knows you’d always wanted to be there.

You made a choked noise when he was finally in you, hands grasping at the grass beside you, at his forearm, anything to keep you grounded, tethered to reality. Dutch pulls your head back by your hair, biting at the bit of jaw he can get at above his hand. His thrusts are rough and deep, the way you cling to him delicious when he pulls back. Each little sound you make is broken up where his hand clasps down on your throat, most of it leaving as raspy, delicate breaths of air. He’s loud, angry, smearing blood over you, getting it on his lips and licking it off.

“I could kill you without even trying.” The moan that escapes you is the loudest yet, desperate, eager. You feel like you’re floating, like he’s already ended you. The grip slackens for just a moment and you beg him to hold tight. He obliges, just as he always does. When you cum its quiet, little puffs of air escaping your lips, but you shake beneath him like you’d just been shocked. He thrusts so deep it hurts, you’re way too sensitive and tears slide down your cheeks, and he grins at the sight. When he cums, he’s flush with you, bites to the point blood is drawn, but lets you go. You're left to shakily sit up as he pulls away.

“Go back to camp and keep your mouth shut for once.”


End file.
